


No Cleaning Involved

by ALC_Punk



Category: Black Books
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, Obscure and British Commentfest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 08:50:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1934529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALC_Punk/pseuds/ALC_Punk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's time to clean the kitchen. Possibly. No one is really quite sure, but there is alcohol involved. Mostly just an excuse to write something utterly pointless with ridiculousness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Cleaning Involved

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt: _Black Books, any characters, it's time to clean the kitchen. No, really. Yes, really._

At some point during the annoyingly sunny morning, Fran had wandered in, disappeared into the back and returned. There'd been some banging and shouting while she'd been behind the curtain, but Bernard had rather ignored it for the cigarette currently wafting ash towards his floor.

She'd looked _different_ in some fashion. Rather like a woman who needed a large drink.

(in general, Bernard thought everyone needed a very large drink rather a lot of the time, he just wasn't particularly willing to let them have _his_ alcohol to satisfy their need. They could obviously bugger off and get their own)

So he'd poured her one. That generosity had required him to drink an entire glass as recompense. He was in the midst of pouring a second when he finally remembered she'd been saying something about something, and waved a hand, interrupting her mid-sentence. "Right, then, what was it you were saying?"

"Bernard. I want you to think very carefully about this." Fran took up her glass and frowned at its contents. "It's time to clean the kitchen."

"Don't be ridiculous, have another drink." Bernard suited actions to words and downed half of his glass of plonk before realizing she hadn't taken the bottle to top up her half-empty glass.

In fact, Fran was still standing at the side of the desk, one hand on her hip (the other being occupied with the glass, though his hazy impression was that she would have both perched in some menacing fashion at her hips if she'd managed to hold her drink without hands). The elbow was cocked at an almost agressive angle. "Are you aware of what's growing in your sink?"

"Sludge. Best kind." Nudging the bottle her way would mean removing it from his own orbit. Instead, he topped off his own glass.

"Bernard. It tried to eat Manny."

"Good." Really. Best thing that could happen to the bastard. Always trying to tidy up the bookshop. Sell books. Entice _customers in_. How was he ever supposed to nap when there were _cheerfully smiling people_ in his carefully arranged bookshop? Honestly, anything was better than Manny's miserable existence as a one-note joke. Bernard nodded himself back into his glass and then paused. "Where is he?"

"Yes, I wondered when you'd get round to asking." Instead of answering, Fran took the bottle away and poured herself a large dollop, drinking it all before she moved to the couch and half-sprawled.

Bernard lit another cigarette from the end of the one he'd been sort of ignoring and took a long puff at it, considering. The light from outside the shop windows was a little too bright for this early in the evening, he decided. He glared at it a bit then decided that was a waste of energy and returned to the glass of wine.

It was then he realized that Fran had taken the bottle with her to the sofa, a tactical advantage he should never have allowed her. "Give that back."

"Clean your kitchen."

He uttered several rather colorful curses that all fell short of his true feelings. Getting up would be giving in, of course. He angrily sucked on the cigarette and blew out a large cloud of smoke. "Fine, then."

Reaching down, he picked up the second bottle Manny'd dropped off earlier. Whenever he'd been there. Before the clanging and banging from behind the curtain, and the frightened shouts. Bernard frowned at the bottle, trying to decide if standing up would be worth using the corkscrew correctly. Last time he'd broken the top off a bottle, he'd spilled so much of it, he'd almost felt it was a waste.

He compromised by half-standing and leaning down to wrestle the whole business with the bottle on the floor.

"I hope you're sharing," Fran called from her position on the sofa.

As she hadn't returned to talking about the wonderful Manny, he allowed as he might give her some. Maybe.

The cork popped out, and he reeled back into the chair with a screech and a groan.

His chair was bulkier now.

"Bernard." Manny's voice was far too close for comfort, and Bernard tried to figure out why that was. And also why he couldn't get comfortable anymore.

From the couch, Fran was laughing that annoying sound that always followed him into nightmares. He rather hoped she laughed herself onto the floor--the bottle in her hand was mostly empty, so he wouldn't miss it that much if she managed to spill it.

The chair shifted underneath him.

Bernard looked at the bottle in his hand, the fag dangling from his fingers and the empty glass. He frowned.

The chair moved again, and _groaned_. It sounded rather like Manny, actually. Bernard found that odd, though he was fairly certain that the wine was fine, the fag was a normal one and no one had dropped something psychadelic into his glass. Well. Probably not, anyway.

He eyed Fran where she was still laughing to herself.

Never could trust her not to steal a fellow's bottle of alcohol. Drugging might be her next plan of attack.

"You should get up, you're squishing him," Fran said, having suddenly stopped laughing. She was looking at him, eyes wide, and nose wrinkling. "Besides, that looks uncomfortable."

"Chair's lumpy." He suggested before pouring out more wine.

The chair shoved him onto the floor.

Bernard had spent a lot of good times on the floor. Usually with several bottles, a lot of dirt and packs and packs of smokes. He'd once set himself on fire by being on the floor. Fran had spent the whole time laughing at him as he frantically rolled about, trying to put himself out.

The day wasn't looking up. His chair had evicted him, which was very impolite of the chair. He knew that chair quite loved him a lot. It was where he always sat, making the chair happier as he slowly molded it to his frame. It was sturdy and perfect for his needs. It never complained when he spilled wine on it or dropped ash on the now-scarred arm-rests.

At least the floor wasn't lumpy.

Licking some of the spilled wine off his hand, he considered the now-empty glass with disfavor.

He briefly contemplated the puddle on the floor before deciding that he wasn't quite that desperate, and poured out another large one for himself.

"Give that here, Bernard." Fran had managed to return to her feet and wandered over to him. The abandoned bottle next to the sofa was rolling about, empty.

"Oi, get your own." Really, the nerve of _some_ people.

"I'd quite like some too," said Manny from somewhere in the vicinity of Bernard's chair.

He blinked up at Fran, but clung even more tightly to the bottle as she attempted to take it from him. The jostling resulted in more wine on his arm and the floor. This time, he almost gave into the urge to lean down for a slurp. Luckily, the glass in his hand was still half-full.

Empty after a long gulp, of course.

From above him, Fran made obnoxious noises at the back of her throat and shook a finger at him. "I don't think you're supposed to marathon wine."

Bernard's eyes tracked the movement of her finger and almost missed the next attempt to relieve him of his life's blood. He was a bit too crafty, though, hand tightening on the neck of the bottle even as she lunged again for it.

"Manny," Fran said, her voice a slight whine of aggravation. "Go and get me another bottle of Bernard's plonk from the kitchen."

From the vicinity of Bernard's chair was a shuddering movement and then Manny was suddenly more visible as he replied, "I don't think anyone should go in there. It's dangerous."

"Don't be ridiculous. It's a kitchen. What could possibly be dangerous?" Bernard rather thought that was a brilliant return volley, but couldn't manage to get himself to get back up and reclaim his chair. The floor wasn't really _comfortable_ , but Manny now had a rather wild-eyed look that made Bernard think of charging teenagers at bus stops and landlords with eviction notices.

"Aside from the knives?" Fran suggested from where she was still trying to make away with Bernard's bottle of wine. She was sort of pretending to lean against the desk.

Those knives weren't dangerous. Bernard hadn't cut himself in weeks on any of them. Then again, Manny had been doing most of the cooking, such as it was.

"The knives," said Manny, "are the least of our worries."

-f-


End file.
